So white, so soft, so sweet is she

Have you seen but a whyte Lilie grow
Before rude hands had touch'd it;
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow
Before the Earth hath smucht it
Have you felt the wool of Beaver
Or Swansdown ever;
Or have smelt of the Bud of the Bryer
Or the Nard in the fire;
Or have tasted the Bag of the Bee;
O so whyte, O so soft, O so sweet, so sweet
So sweet is she!
O so whyte, O so soft, O so sweet
So sweet, so sweet is she!